Cut Throat (22 page)

When he reached the lorry, Leo had finished his cigarette and was tacking up Flowergirl. Ross decided to let sleeping dogs lie for the time being.

Back at the exercise ring he discovered the Colonel, Lindsay and James Roberts leaning on the rails. He slipped off the mare and went to greet them, his eyes on Lindsay's cotton-clad figure. She had twisted her hair into a knot on top of her head in a cool, sophisticated style. Ross thought she looked wonderful and experienced a sharp stab of jealousy seeing James standing with one arm casually circling her waist.

He greeted his boss politely, then turned to Lindsay.

‘No luck with the necklace, I'm afraid.'

She looked stricken. ‘Oh, Ross, I'm so sorry! I should have rung you. James found it this morning,
and
one of the earrings. They'd fallen under the seat in the MG but he had to take it out to get at them. I forgot you might be looking for them. Sorry.'

‘I'm just glad you found them,' he replied.

‘Me too. Mother would have killed me. She gave them to me on my eighteenth.'

‘So, did she drag you along again?' Ross commiserated with James. ‘You'll have to get her interested in a lady-like pursuit, like flower-arranging or knitting.'

Lindsay scowled at him. ‘It was James' idea to come, not mine,' she said defensively.

‘Well, I knew she wanted to come really and you know what women are,' James said, looking over her head at Ross. ‘If they can't do what they want to, they sulk for days.'

‘Tell me about it!' he agreed.

‘Oh! You're insufferable, both of you,' Lindsay gasped, torn between annoyance and reluctant amusement. ‘Come on, Uncle John, you're a gentleman. Take me away from these two chauvinistic louts! Ross, I hope you fall off!'

The Colonel obligingly tucked her hand through his arm and together they turned away.

James grinned, shrugged expressively to Ross and followed.

Ross mounted and began to work at suppling the brown mare, thinking that he liked Lindsay's fiance very much and at the same time wishing him on the other side of the world.

Mick Colby appeared, having changed from his novice ride on to King's Defender. Ross thought the old horse looked happy and well.

Gradually, the exercise ring filled up again. Stephen Douglas rode by on China Lily and later Ross saw the big chestnut, Telamon, being ridden by a hefty, florid-faced rider he didn't know. The horse looked even leaner than he remembered and just as unhappy.

Flowergirl jumped a typically energetic round but tipped a pole into the tanbark for four faults. It was one of those evenings. The class was eventually won by Douglas, whose mare was in cracking form, with Colby taking second place. Ross didn't see what happened to the chestnut and his new jockey, save that the horse preceded the rider from the arena by the best part of a minute.

As Ross was walking Flo back to the horsebox, Leo appeared unexpectedly, riding Woodsmoke. A neighbouring groom was keeping an eye on the lorry, he said, in answer to Ross' query. He wore a cat-with-the-cream smile that made Ross distinctly uneasy and he checked Woody's tack closely before mounting.

Franklin's horse jumped carefully into the jump-off in the last class but Flo dropped another unlucky pole. Douglas also had a fence down and glared murderously at Ross as if daring him to find it funny. Ross just turned away.

In the jump-off, the competition was fierce and although Woodsmoke did his best, he couldn't find the speed to beat his younger rivals.

Leo had disappeared in the direction of the horsebox with Flo and Ross was preparing to follow when Colby jumped off King beside him.

‘Bad luck,' he said. ‘Not your evening, was it?'

‘Can't win 'em all,' Ross observed, philosophically.

‘Don't I know it? Hey, sorry to hear about Black Bishop. Damn shame!'

Ross stopped in his tracks. ‘What about him?'

‘I . . . I'm sorry.' Colby looked confused. ‘I heard you'd lost the ride . . .'

‘Says who?'

‘I don't know, mate. Fella on the grey told me. I don't know who told him. It's not true then?'

‘If it is, nobody's told
me
,' Ross assured him. ‘And I can do without that kind of rumour.'

‘Hey, I'm sorry. I'll do what I can to scotch it.'

‘Obliged.' Ross returned to the lorry, recalling Leo's smugness and deciding not to give him the satisfaction of mentioning the matter.

They drove home in heavy silence. As they turned off the main road into Wiltshire's rabbit warren of lanes, Leo reached inside his denim jacket and produced a hip flask.

‘Here you are. This'll steady your nerves and drown your sorrows, Yank,' he said, offering it to Ross.

Ross gritted his teeth, his knuckles white on the wheel.

‘Don't push your luck, fella,' he warned softly. ‘You're flying very close to the flame.'

Leo chuckled most of the way home.

Ross lay awake for quite a while that night, once again regretting the mischance that had brought Leo down on him the night before. He had told Bill that the motorbike had a flat tyre, which explained the silence of his approach but not his early return. Ross felt that the whole episode and its consequences would have been more bearable if his search had yielded something useful. As it was, it looked as though it had all been for nothing.

Even without the excuse of Lindsay's missing pearls, he'd been tempted to search Leo's room. Too many little things went missing around the yard. But if Leo
was
responsible, then he obviously knew where he could pass them on without delay. Ross had looked everywhere. In fact, if he hadn't been so thorough, he would have been out of the danger zone before Leo had returned. He supposed he should be thankful he had not been caught actually going through the man's pockets.

Suddenly, as if someone had turned a light on in his mind, he remembered the business card he had found and glanced at dismissively, and its significance was all at once blindingly obvious.

Clown had been soaked in ox blood. And where better to obtain a large quantity of blood than a slaughterhouse?

What excuse one would give for wanting it was a debatable point but of little importance. What mattered was that somebody
had
got it. And it could surely be no coincidence that Leo was carrying the card of one ‘M. A. Kendall – Wholesale Butcher' in his pocket.

Had Leo, then, been the prowler Ross had challenged that night in the yard?

Ross didn't think so.
His
man had been tall and fairly broad, not of wiry build like the groom.

Who then?
Had
there been two of them? And what of the other card? Anyone less likely to have used the services of a bespoke tailor than Leo, it would be hard to imagine.

He sighed and turned over, trying to sleep. The problem would still, unfortunately, be there in the morning.

The next day, Ross telephoned Edward McKinnon for the first time. He had ridden Fly out on his own and made the call from a lonely hilltop. A machine answered. Ross told it his name and said he would ring back later.

The machine clicked and McKinnon cut in. ‘Ross? I'm here. What can I do for you?'

As briefly as he could, he told McKinnon his suspicions about Leo's thieving and of the consequent search of his room. He told him about the business card and also mentioned the prowler he had encountered the night before Clown was daubed with blood. He said he didn't think his assailant had been Leo, but that the dog had chased someone else who could possibly have been.

McKinnon had heard about the prowler from Richmond. ‘We checked on Leo Jackson when he was first employed by the Colonel,' he told Ross. ‘At least, in so far as to establish his whereabouts at the time of the Bellboy incident. At that time he was working in a racing stable in Ireland. So if he was responsible for this second incident, then it was probably on the instruction of another party.'

‘From what you've told me about the extortionist,' Ross said thoughtfully, ‘he doesn't sound the sort of character to get involved with a two-bit sneak thief like Leo. I mean, Leo is so blatantly aggressive. There's nothing subtle about him. It seems more likely to me that Leo stole that business card along with something else – a wallet, perhaps – from somebody's pocket or car. Besides, I would swear he was as surprised as the rest of us at finding Clown in that state.'

‘Maybe.' McKinnon paused, apparently to digest this information. ‘Yes, I think you're probably right. Though I don't see why he should have kept the card. Unless he just forgot that he had it. Anyway, I'll put somebody on to this Kendall – see if we can get some kind of a description from him. After all, it can't be every day that they have a customer asking for a couple of gallons of ox blood.'

‘And what about Peter's accident? Has anything more turned up on that?' Ross asked.

‘There was a message on Franklin's answerphone yesterday,' McKinnon said. ‘Remote callbox, as before. The caller advised Franklin to toe the line and said “It could have been worse.”'

‘So it
wasn't
an accident?'

‘Well, possibly not.' McKinnon was cautious. ‘The thing is, it was widely reported – the papers, local TV, you know the sort of thing. Easy enough to claim responsibility after the event.'

‘I suppose so.' Hearing muffled hoofbeats, Ross cast a quick look around him. ‘Look, I'd better go now. Somebody's coming. Shall I call back tomorrow and see what you've come up with?'

‘If you like, or I can let you know through Franklin.' McKinnon sounded amused. ‘What happened to the man at the pub who didn't want to get involved?'

‘I
am
involved, damn you! Just as you knew I would be. So don't bother to say “I told you so”.'

‘I wouldn't dream of it,' McKinnon protested, the amusement very evident. ‘Well anyway, thanks for the information. But don't stick your neck out,
please
. I've got people who are employed to take risks. If there is anything else you think we should look into, let one of them do it. It wouldn't be so catastrophic if they got caught.'

‘What
would
you do if one of your people got caught snooping?' Ross asked curiously.

‘Disown them,' McKinnon said shortly. ‘But they know that. It's one of the conditions of the job. We'll pay for the best legal aid, but we won't come forward ourselves. But that's beside the point. They are trained not to get caught.'

‘Cyanide pills?' Ross murmured, amused in his turn.

‘No, Mr Wakelin,' McKinnon said heavily. ‘They fall on their swords.'

There was a click as he disconnected and Ross smiled. The man was really quite human.

His ride completed and Fly returned to his stable, Ross crossed the yard carrying the saddle and bridle to hear raised voices from the tackroom. In the doorway he all but collided with Darcy Richmond, who pushed past him with a muttered apology and made for his car. Ross watched him go, puzzled, then went on in.

Leo was inside, half-heartedly soaping a bridle and wearing a self-satisfied smirk.

‘What now?' Ross asked, heavily.

‘Now?' Leo was all innocence.

‘You know what I mean. What have you said to upset Darcy?'

Leo curled his lip. ‘Mind your own business, Yank.'

‘Anything you have to say, in this yard, to one of the owners or their family,
is
my business,' Ross said forcefully. ‘And if you want to continue to work here, you had better remember that!'

Leo continued to sneer. ‘He warned me to stay away from his girl,' he said. ‘He needn't have bothered. I don't want the little mouse anyway. I prefer the other one – the classy blonde.' He glanced sideways at Ross to gauge his reaction.

‘You wouldn't know class if it kicked your butt,' he said mildly, dumping his saddle down beside the one Leo was about to clean. ‘When you've finished that, you can do this one,' he added with the air of one bestowing a great favour and turned away, heading for the cottage and a cool drink.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught Leo's black scowl and for once the satisfaction was all his.

Ross had to go into Salisbury the next morning and rang McKinnon from the jeep when he got there.

‘I'm not going to leave my name and number, so you might as well pick up the damn' phone if you're listening,' he told the answering machine.

McKinnon picked it up.

‘And good morning to you too, Ross,' he said politely. ‘I do love your particularly American brand of charm.'

Ross smiled to himself. ‘What news?' he asked.

‘Well, we tracked down Kendall the butcher and paid him a visit,' McKinnon reported. ‘I think we gave him the fright of his life. He was convinced that we were from Public Health or MAFF and insisted that he had not and would never sell ox blood to anyone under any circumstances. However, when we offered a little – shall we say – financial inducement he remembered that he
had
had an enquiry but of course had refused to deal with the man. As far as he could remember it was a fairly young man, late-twenties to early-thirties he thought, dressed like a countryman and wearing a flat cap and sunglasses. He couldn't remember what kind of car the man drove but what
was
interesting was that Kendall thought he might have been Irish. Which tells us . . . ?' McKinnon finished.

Ross thought for a moment.

‘Which tells us the ox-blood man is almost certainly our original Mr X, and that he is young. It also tells us what we already know: that he's careful enough to cover his tracks even when he doesn't expect us to be close behind.' He paused. ‘What excuse did he give for wanting the blood?' he asked curiously.